


xx. concussion

by tempestaurora



Series: it's okay, we're okay [whumpvember 2018] [20]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Sensory Overload, Whumptober, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 16:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: It had happened in gym, when Peter lost focus for a moment and stacked it during the obstacle course, his head slamming into the ground. The entire gym had gone silent when Peter didn’t immediately move, before Coach Wilson raced across the room to Peter’s side, who then groaned quietly into the floor.Ned had volunteered to take him to the nurse’s station when he counted Wilson’s two held up fingers as six.





	xx. concussion

**Author's Note:**

> alright someone's been asking me to do a sensory overload fic for about two and a half months so here it is  
> also, i believe everyone can be nice and kind and not mean if they want to, and i like fics where the teachers and guardians assigned to schools are actually like that and not mean, belittling or disbelieving of peter so don't expect that from me today alright
> 
> EDIT: y'all i just changed my username so it matches my tumblr so like,,,,,,, it's still me lmao. i'm just shiny and new now

It was Ned that helped Peter to the nurse’s station at Midtown High, one arm around Peter’s waist, another grabbing onto the hand hanging loose over his shoulder.

“You’re so heavy,” Ned muttered as they went, Peter stumbling and blinking, dazed.

It had happened in gym, when Peter lost focus for a moment and stacked it during the obstacle course, his head slamming into the ground. The entire gym had gone silent when Peter didn’t immediately move, before Coach Wilson raced across the room to Peter’s side, who then groaned quietly into the floor.

Ned had volunteered to take him to the nurse’s station when he counted Wilson’s two held up fingers as six.

“Mm, don’ mean to be,” Peter replied. He was still aching; there was a consistent pounding in his head, his stomach hurt like he was going to throw up and whenever he blinked, little dots would appear in his doubled-vision.

When they arrived, Ned hurried to open the door and threw Peter onto the first bed. He groaned, Ned whispered an apology and Peter curled up on the solid mattress, shutting his eyes tight. This room was brighter than the hall and it ached to see the light, to have it attack his eyes.

He could hear Ned’s worried voice like it was inside his mind; too close, too loud, echoing over and over, rattling around his skull.

“He hit his head really hard,” Ned was saying. “He’s got double vision and he’s slurring when he speaks.”

“Alright, Mr Leeds,” the nurse – Miss Blake – said. “Thank you. Would you mind collecting his things? I might need to send him home.”

The door clicking shut happened to Peter a hundred times; high pitched, one after another after another inside his head. _Click, click, click._

When the nurse asked him to turn over, her voice was too close, too loud. Peter slammed his hands over his ears, eyes squeezing shut so tight they hurt. He groaned a response without words, tensing his limbs when she gently tried to pull a hand from his ear.

“Alright, alright,” she whispered. “I need to see the bump, Mr Parker. Would you please turn over so I can see it?”

It took a minute, but eventually he shifted until he was lying on his back, eyes clamped shut, hands over his ears, legs trembling with the effort of staying awake and hearing _everything_. Three rooms down was Freshman Spanish, two hallways over a boy was asking a girl on a date with stuttering words, on the floor directly above him there were two boys hurling insults at each other.

Miss Blake checked his bump, then asked him to open his eyes so she could check his pupils, but Peter just shook his head, lips pressed together in a straight line so pale.

“Come on, now,” she said with a slight edge to her voice. “I need to check or I can’t let you go.”

Peter tried, honestly, he did, but the moment his eyes opened the world became too bright and he gasped in a breath so sharp it made him dizzy.

“Too bright,” he muttered when his eyes were shut again, his face turned into the too-firm pillow on the bed. “I can’t-”

The nurse left after a moment, Peter lying there with his knees pulled up to his chest. He could hear her fingers on a keyboard, the scrolling of a mouse.

“Mr Parker,” she called over, gentle, “I’m going to call your guardian, alright? I’m sending you home.”

Peter didn’t response, just shoved his face further into the pillow, her voice reverberating around his brain. He could hear the phone ringing from where he was, and half way through the door clicked back open, and Peter’s backpack hit the floor over and over inside his head.

The ringing stopped. No one picked up.

The nurse let out a short breath of disappointment, then scrolled down the mouse again. She clicked her tongue three times.

“Mr Leeds,” she said, “you’re friends with Mr Parker, correct?” Her voice was a whisper but it was the loudest thing in the world to Peter, squirming on the bed.

“Yeah.”

“The only thing I have on his medical records is an inhaler, do you know anything about him having a light sensitivity? It might just be the possible concussion, but…”

Peter hadn’t need his inhaler since the spider bite. He hadn’t had an asthma attack since, either.

The nurse rolled her chair from her desk, her shoes tapping out her footsteps on the linoleum floor as Ned hummed positively.

“He gets sensory overload sometimes.” Peter had the distinct impression they were both looking at him, but he didn’t care – Peter clawed his fingers over his ears and tried not to feel how scratchy the fabric of the pillow was. God, he could feel _everything._ The air of the room was slightly too warm, his shirt was too soft, trainers too heavy on his feet. “Too much input.”

There was a pause before the familiar click of a light switch was swallowed by the cavernous void of his head, rolling around the walls. The pressure on his eyes lessened slightly.

“Thank you, Mr Leeds. You should go back to class.”

“Is Peter going home?”

Peter was supposed to sleep over at Ned’s that night. They were going to watch Star Wars movies and build their own lightsabers with a kit Ned had received for his birthday. He wasn’t supposed to be concussed on a bed in the nurse’s station, begging for some sort of relief from the endless onslaught of sounds and sights and smells-

God, the smells. Antiseptic, whatever perfume Miss Blake wore, the dish soap in the cafeteria half way across the school.

“‘Fraid so, but I can’t get in touch with his Aunt just yet.”

“He has a second emergency contact.”

There was a pause. The pause provided no relief. “Right,” she said, slow, “and you’re aware that the second emergency contact is…”

“Mr Stark, yeah.”

There was another moment of silence. “It’s a funny joke to put him on the list, but-”

“It’s not a joke!” Ned interrupted a little too loud. Peter _felt_ him wince and he lowered his voice. “Peter has an internship at Stark Industries. May and Mr Stark decided together to have him as the second contact.”

“Mr Leeds, there’s no way that Mr Parker would-”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, Peter’s got sensory overload and probably a concussion. Mr Stark would pick him up.”

Miss Blake’s shoes tiptoed back across the room. Peter didn’t have it in him to be thankful. He heard her sitting back on the chair, rolling it towards the desk.

“In the real world,” she whispered, “people don’t have their _bosses_ as their emergency contacts.” Still, she picked up the phone anyway, and Ned’s heavier steps moved towards Peter.

Peter felt the shifts in air as Ned moved to his side, sitting on the next bed over. They were low, narrow things with paper rather than fabric sheets and Peter wrinkled his nose up at the scrunching sound of Ned sitting down.

“It’ll be okay,” Ned said so quiet it was like he was just breathing the words. “You’ll be alright.”

The phone rang across the room. There was the sound of a pick up on the fourth one.

“Stark,” came the distant response.

“Oh! Uh, Mr Stark? This is Miss Blake from Midtown High. I have a Peter Parker in the nurse’s office.” The nurse rose her voice a little for the phone, but Peter could feel her conscious effort to stay quiet.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Difficult to tell when he won’t let me check him out, but I think he has a concussion. He also seems to have some sort of sensory overload? His first emergency contact didn’t pick up, but I need someone to sign him out of school.”

“Okay,” the voice replied. There was a wave of relief. _Mr Stark is coming._ “I’ll be there soon. No problem.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Stark.”

There was a dial tone and a breath released. Ned whispered, “I told you so,” as Miss Blake breathed, “I just spoke to Tony Stark.”

Time passed agonisingly slow after that. Ned returned to class with a _goodbye_ and a _we’ll build lightsabers another time, okay?_ Then it was just Miss Blake clicking at her keyboard across the room and Peter trying desperately to ground himself in something other than the cold paper sheet and the sound of bad Spanish.

Eventually, he smelt it before hearing it. Motor oil, something like expensive cologne, coffee. Peter knew those smells and he let himself relax, just barely, before zeroing in on the footsteps. They were hesitant, like he didn’t know where to go, but speeding up as he drew close.

There was a quiet knock on the door before it opened.

“Mr Stark,” Miss Blake said.

“Is he in here?”

There wasn’t a response, just the door clicking shut – _click, click, click_ in his head – and footsteps moving across the floor.

“Hey, Pete.”

Peter winced at how Mr Stark’s voice came from inside his head and out of it.

“Alright, I know. I’m gonna take you to the tower. I need you to move, buddy.” There was a pause before Mr Stark’s hand slipped over Peter’s wrist. It was too hot and too cold all at once and Peter jerked back before the hand pulled Peter’s from his ear. Then Mr Stark tilted Peter’s face away from the pillow, slipping something down over his ears.

Immediately, everything was silent. Blissfully so. An endless void of such silence that Peter let out a sigh.

He reached up a hand to feel the cool, sleek material of the headphones – noise cancelling ones. When had Mr Stark made these? When had he thought about this?

Next, he felt the shades push over his eyes and ears before Mr Stark tapped gently on his cheek. Peter hesitated before opening his eyes.

The world was incredibly dimmed, quiet and peaceful – they were like the original goggles from his Spiderman suit, but better; they let in so little light, yet Peter wasn’t straining his eyes to see.

Mr Stark couldn’t help how everything felt too textured on his skin, or how he could smell everything, but Peter blew out a relieved breath anyway. Turned out he liked the strange concoction of motor oil, coffee and cologne.

Mr Stark was smiling. Peter read his lips as he asked, _Better?_

Peter nodded.

Mr Stark helped him stand, slinging Peter’s backpack over his shoulder as he went. Peter stumbled his first few steps, read Miss Blake’s slack-jawed mouth about his possible concussion and letting him get a lot of rest. He didn’t see or hear Mr Stark’s responses before he was signed out and guided away from the office, the hallway brighter than the darkened nurse’s station but still bearable on his eyes.

Peter was dizzy and ached; he felt sick and everything was a little too much for him, but Mr Stark was smiling and his car seats were soft leather that Peter could sink into; the music switched off and the engine not at all audible even if he hadn’t been wearing the headphones.

The tower was a safe haven though, when they finally arrived. It was completely empty, with only the bare bones remaining, but up in the penthouse suite, a hundred floors from the endlessly noisy streets of Manhattan, there was still a sofa in the living room, the lights dimmed and the window panes darkened to stop the sun from getting through. And Mr Stark still produced a soft blanket from somewhere, lying Peter down on the sofa to rest, as he sat at the other end, Peter’s feet stretched out on his lap.

There was nothing to hear when Peter finally took off the headphones in his half-dosing state. Just Mr Stark’s gentle breathing; the least invasive thing he’d heard all afternoon.

Peter hummed, light. “Thanks, Mr Stark.”

“No problem, kid,” he responded.

**Author's Note:**

> aye thanks for reading  
> tomorrow is harsh climate, aka the one i least want to write


End file.
